


it's a cheap thing, so why does it give me this feeling

by rebelsquad (wolveheart)



Series: sorry for the dirt in your mouth [3]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Being an Asshole Doesn't Mean You Can't Have Feelings, M/M, Mention of Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolveheart/pseuds/rebelsquad
Summary: Their relationship doesn’t exist on a spectrum. There’s only point A, which is making out in various states of undress, and point B, which is Leckie getting away with pretend-casual bro-y touches, and sitting pressed together in the corner of a booth because otherwise the rest of their friends wouldn’t fit around the table.There might be a point C, an exception for when they’re drunk or high. But there’s no room for spooning in front of the TV, or holding hands while getting ice cream, or telling Mrs. Smith that yes, he’s here to pick up his boyfriend for a romantic date. They don'tcuddle. Usually.(Or: Leckie, being bad at math, maybe shouldn't use math metaphors for his relationships.)





	it's a cheap thing, so why does it give me this feeling

**Author's Note:**

> coda to _in gold light, lakeside and backlit_. a look into what happens when leckie stays the night over at hoosier's after babysitting eddie's siblings. basically just soft boys trying not to be soft but really truly wanting to be soft. title from "like a kid" by pang! which i've listened to way too many times at this point. 
> 
> warning maybe that there's very brief mentioning of cheating parents, divorced parents and, uh, therapy.

Considering that Mrs. Smith’s old Honda isn’t in the driveway, Leckie’s not surprised to find Hoosier opening the door for him. Fifty-fifty chance and the odds were in his favor for once. 

“Hi,” Leckie says. 

“Hi,” Hoosier says back, shuffling to the side to let Leckie in. “You’re early.”

“Yeah,” Leckie replies, waiting until the door to clicks shut. “Chuckler said he can handle two sleeping kids and one that’s holed up in her room, presumably reading or doing something otherwise harmless.” 

He kicks off his shoes, then thinks again and arranges them more orderly next to Hoosier’s sneakers. He’s been coming to this house since he was twelve. Mrs. Smith has had to deal with a lot of his messy tendencies, but he likes to think he’s picked up some manners over the years. 

“I assume you know all about being holed up and pretending to be reading instead of, let’s see, sneaking out to to get drunk with friends,” Hoosier says, hands in the pouch of his gray hoodie. He pushes himself off the door he was leaning against and brushes past Leckie.

Leckie huffs and follows Hoosier to the living room, dropping his backpack by the stairs on the way there. 

“Must I remind you that you are one of those friends? Besides, this is Eddie’s sister we’re talking about." Hoosier gives him a raised eyebrow. "There’s not one rotten apple in that family,” Leckie clarifies.

“You get a point for that.” Hoosier falls onto the couch with the kind of grace that can only come from years of jumping through the air to keep a ball out of his goal. “But I hope you remember that I’m the friend who was talked into, by none other than you, to go swimming. At night. In Mr. Peterson’s pool.” He leans his head back, gives Leckie a look from under hooded eyelids. “Naked.”

It’s difficult to return the look when Leckie’s still standing by the side of the couch. Not really possible to look at someone with lowered lids when that person is lying down, though not for lack of trying on Leckie’s part.

“If I remember correctly,” Leckie smirks, “you didn’t need a lot of convincing.” That night carries a lot of fond memories with it. 

Hoosier purses his lips. “Public nudity is always a seller.”

“The whole point was sneaking into the pool unseen,” Leckie points out. “The nudity was not supposed to be public.”

“Unexpected benefit,” Hoosier makes a throwaway hand gesture, then reaches for the remote on the coffee table. “Why are you always so difficult?” 

“Part of my charming personality,” Leckie says, with lukewarm cheerfulness. “What are we watching?” He turns to the TV just as Hoosier unpauses and people come alive again on the screen. Leckie frowns. “NCIS reruns?”

“I’ll put on Cutthroat Kitchen as soon as you sit your ass down,” Hoosier says, and doesn’t move to make any more space. The couch isn’t that big, doesn’t let two tall teenagers fit without touching, not with the way Hoosier’s taking up more than half of it.

Leckie digs his toes into the plush beige carpet, twirls the string of his hoodie between his fingers. 

They don’t do this, and especially not on Hoosier’s initiative. Cuddling. That’s boyfriend stuff, and they’re not - that’s not. What they do. Their relationship doesn’t exist on a spectrum. There’s only point A, which is making out in various states of undress, and point B, which is Leckie getting away with pretend-casual bro-y touches, and sitting pressed together in the corner of a booth because otherwise the rest of their friends wouldn’t fit around the table. 

There might be a point C, an exception for when they’re drunk or high. But there’s no room for spooning in front of the TV, or holding hands while getting ice cream, or telling Mrs. Smith that yes, he’s here to pick up his boyfriend for a romantic date. 

And, sure, part of Leckie is glad it’s not like that. The thought of holding a boy’s hand in public still makes his heart race, and not at all in a good way. Cold sweat, clammy hands, weight of what feel like a thousand stares on interlocked hands that are at once so innocent and simple, yet at the same time imply more.

That’s the part of him that’s scared to death. The other part of him… likes to dream.

Leckie clears his throat. “I’m gonna sit down in a second, I just want to get -”

“I have water and even a glass for you here,” interrupts Hoosier, pointing at the table. “And those god-awful peach rings you like. Mom asked what you wanted to eat when she heard you’re staying over, so I told her. You can eat them all, none of us here like them, but if you fall into a sugar-induced coma, it’s your own fault.”

Words are stuck in Leckie’s throat, and he doesn’t know if he wants them to get out or if it’s safer to not have them spoken aloud. ‘You made your mom buy candy - for me - and then even put them out - for me - in a small glass bowl like your chips just to make everything look nicer?’ is not a small deal for them. 

“Thanks,” Leckie says eventually, still holding on tightly to the strings of his hoodie. 

Hoosier tears his eyes away from the screen to look at Leckie. “Will you please sit the fuck down? You’re making me antsy. And hand me the chips.”

With his socked foot, Leckie gently kicks against Hoosier’s leg. “You’re so fucking bossy, how does anyone like you?”

“My charming personality,” Hoosier winks. 

“Ugh.” Equipped with two bowls in his hand, Leckie climbs into what little free space there is left between the couch’s armrest and Hoosier’s gangly limbs. If he lies in the opposite direction, he could stretch out his legs too. And there would be no cuddling, or anything resembling cuddling. 

“Stop turning simple things into rocket science,” Hoosier says. He sits up a little, so he’s leaning against the cushions by the armrest, and then takes the chips bowl out of Leckie’s hand while pulling Leckie down next to him by the front of his hoodie. 

So. Okay. Full body contact. Fine, he can pretend this is completely ordinary. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Leckie has to shift around a bit more so he can fit his back into the corner of the couch, and he won’t be able to sit like this for hours, his spine will kill him. But for now it’s good. He hooks his leg over Hoosier’s, and that’s better, lying more sideways. And putting down the peach bowl on Hoosier’s stomach leaves his left arm free to rest it next to Hoosier’s head on the armrest, perfect to support his own head with. 

“Really?” Hoosier’s gaze follows Leckie’s hand as it reaches for a peach ring, then flicks to his face. “You’re using me as a table now?”

Peach ring still between his fingers, Leckie leans closer. With the tip of his nose against Hoosier’s, he says, “You’re doing an amazing job.” He closes the tiny gap and presses a kiss on Hoosier’s lips, quick and dry. There’s an entire bowl of peach rings just for him; making out can wait.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks around the candy.

Hoosier wrinkles his nose and grabs a chip from the bowl he’s placed on the floor. “You know the rule: no parent talk after sucking face.” The chip lands in his mouth and he turns his head to the TV, searching through the recorded programs to find the right Cutthroat Kitchen episode. 

“She’s on a date,” he says, once he’s found the episode and starts it. “With Big G, because apparently the dude’s a dog person.”

Leckie stops mid-chew. From this angle he can barely see more than Hoosier’s profile, the blank expression under uncombed hair. Leckie resumes chewing so he can swallow and ask, “How do you feel about that?”

“You’re not Beatrice,” Hoosier retorts impassively, which, duh, of course Leckie isn’t his own therapist.

“I picked up some tricks from her, though,” Leckie replies as neutrally as he can. He increases the pressure of his leg over Hoosier’s just a little. 

Hoosier manages to shrug while lying down and without spilling peach rings onto his stomach. 

The sound of the TV fills the otherwise silent room for another few moments. The first two contestants are introduced. Leckie barely registers their names; his attention is mostly on the boy in front of him.

When the third contestant comes on screen, Hoosier says, “I want her to be happy. It’s been five years. And dad started seeing other women basically the second he was out of the house.” He picks up a handful of chips. “Only thing that matters is that she said no one would move in for as long as I haven’t moved out.” 

The crunching of chips mixes with the voice of contestant number four, who keeps blabbering on where she learned to cook, or something, Leckie isn’t sure, and neither does he care. He doesn’t state the obvious, that Hoosier didn’t answer his question, or that it’s different that the parent who cheated starts dating sooner than the other parent. This is more than Hoosier would’ve told him a year ago. 

It’s that knowledge that makes Leckie brave enough to reach out and run his hand through Hoosier’s hair, to reach around Hoosier’s waist with the other arm and carefully pull him closer so Hoosier’s side is pressed against his chest. He doesn’t keep his hand there, though, doesn’t want to tempt his luck too much, so he takes a couple of peach rings instead.

Judging from the way Hoosier doesn’t make any attempt to change this new seating arrangement, it was the right call. If Leckie isn’t mistaken, Hoosier actually moves a fraction closer.

Maybe there’s a point D, Leckie thinks. Maybe nights like this, when they both respect each other’s wish to quietly pretend that they’ve accepted their respective family situation and are cool with it... maybe those are exceptions to the ‘no boyfriend behavior’ rule, too.

Unceremoniously, Hoosier drops another handful of chips into his mouth. “My money is on number one,” Hoosier says, a little indistinct due to half-chewed chips.

“No way,” Leckie says, biting into a peach ring, “it’s either three or four.” 

Lying like this, it’s actually not that hard to convince himself that he’s okay. There are worse things in life than finding a home in a house where the door sign reads ‘Smith’ instead of ‘Leckie.’

 

:

 

They go to bed early because neither of them is particularly eager to be found asleep on top of each other on the couch. The dilemma with the couch is that it’s comfortable enough to lull one to sleep, but not comfortable enough to actually sleep on it and wake up in the morning feeling like all joints and muscles are still in their right places. Leckie knows this very well.

So they brush their teeth side by side in the upstairs bathroom. Hoosier tries to make Leckie laugh by pulling ridiculous faces around his toothbrush, and because the world is unfair, a mix of toothpaste and spit ends up on Leckie’s shirt while Hoosier’s remains completely clean.

“You’re disgusting,” Hoosier says, distinct and audible, without stopping his mouth hygiene routine.

“Your face is disgusting,” is what Leckie wants to say, but it comes out garbled and earns him more toothpaste on his clothes. At which point even he can’t deny that yes, it’s disgusting.

On the plus side, it makes it easier to convince Hoosier to lend him one of his shirts for the night.

“Try not to get bodily fluids on it,” Hoosier says, handing Leckie the item of clothing.

When Leckie unfolds it, it turns out to be one of Hoosier’s most treasured pieces, the olive one proclaiming ‘I’d Rather Be Sleeping’ in white print. Treasured because it’s a birthday present from Leckie, Runner and Chuckler from two years ago. They’d picked it two sizes too big to ensure it would still fit after a potential growth spurt. It does still fit, is even still too big, and it’s soft from washing, if also a little faded. Leckie rubs the cloth between his fingers, then quickly strips out of his dirty shirt to put on the new one before Hoosier can change his mind.

“Thanks,” he says, running a hand through his hair to get the messy curls out of his face.

“Literally don’t even mention it,” Hoosier replies without looking at Leckie. He drops onto his bed like a sack of potatoes.

It’s a testament to how tired or just plain gone Leckie is that he finds it attractive. Kind of makes him want to climb on the bed and on top of Hoosier. But when he imagines it, it’s not teenage hormones-induced, frantic making out. Instead it’s soft and slow and quickly turning into just lying next to each other, with Hoosier combing through Leckie’s hair, and – fuck, something about tonight is making him a complete sap.

Leckie lies down in front of Hoosier’s bed on the mattress that he’s been sleeping on ever since he’s been allowed to stay over at the Smith’s for the night. Mrs. Smith even laid out his usual comforter and pillowcase. Almost feels like his own bed.

“Hey, come up here,” Hoosier says, moving a fraction to make space. “There’s a video I need to show you.”

“And you couldn’t have said that two seconds earlier? Now I have to get up again,” Leckie says, only mildly annoyed.

“I like to make you work for your fortune,” Hoosier says, bone-dry.

“What the youth of today lacks is a sense of altruism and philanthropy,” Leckie says gravely.

Hoosier looks down at him. “Is throwing around big words getting you up here faster? I don’t think so.”

“Wiseass,” Leckie mutters. He pulls himself up on Hoosier’s wooden bedframe and lies down next to him. They’re both lying on their backs, but Leckie has to maneuver his leg over Hoosier’s to keep from falling off the edge. “Here now.”

“You sure are,” Hoosier agrees, pulling out his phone to look for the video.

It’s a video of a guy playing something from Lord of the Rings on a flute, which gets an ostrich to dance, and apparently it’s the funniest shit Hoosier has ever seen because he’s shaking so hard with silent laughter that he can’t hold up his phone with a still enough hand to have Leckie watch the video.

Then again, watching it is difficult anyway, since Leckie has turned his head, eyes on Hoosier, watches his nose scrunch up and the laughter lines around his eyes. He wants to roll over and kiss Hoosier’s dimples, the tip of his nose, the grin. Taste what it’s like to feel such easy, unbridled joy.  

There’s a knock on the door, crushing any considerations of having action follow that want.

Sheer instinct has Leckie rolling to the other side, away from Hoosier. He lands on the mattress on the floor with a soft ‘oof’ and has just enough time to roll on his stomach and look up at the door, hopefully appearing casual, before Hoosier yells “yeah?” and Mrs. Smith opens the door to poke her head into the room.

“Hi boys,” she greets them, smiling, and Leckie can’t even be mad.

“Hi Mrs. S,” he says just as Hoosier says, “Hi mom.”

She glances from her son to Leckie, and maybe he’s imagining it but her eyes seem to linger on his T-Shirt – well, Hoosier’s – for a second. If she does, she doesn’t let on, though, just opens the door a little further and leans against the doorframe.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” she says.

“Nope,” Hoosier replies. He’s still lying on his back, has only twisted his head at what would be an uncomfortable angle for any other person. “I was just showing Leckie the ostrich video.”

His mother grins. “The one with the flute music? Wonderful, I won’t get in the way of your fun any longer then. You’re staying for breakfast, Bob, yes?”

Leckie dips his chin in what Chuckler has assured him is his most charming expression. “Yes, if that’s alright with you. We figured I’d stay here all morning so we can go to practice together. Got my stuff here and everything.”

Mrs. Smith nods enthusiastically. “Sure, sure, that’s more than alright. You’re always welcome here, Bob.”

Leckie feels his cheeks heat up a little. “Thank you.” It’s not the first time she told him that, but it never hurts to hear it again.

“Okay, that’s all. Just wanted to check up on you.” Mrs. Smith smiles at them. “Goodnight, boys. Sleep well.”

Leckie and Hoosier chorus a ‘thank you, you too’ and Hoosier asks her to turn off the overhead light. The door clicks shut softly behind her, and they are left in darkness until Hoosier wakes up his phone and his face and hands are illuminated by the white light of the screen.

“Are you gonna come back up here?” he asks, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Not that you had to leave in the first place, my mom wouldn’t have cared. She knows.”

All Leckie can do is stare at him, watching without seeing that Hoosier taps around on his phone.

She knows? She wouldn’t have cared? At this point, Leckie has no idea what Mrs. Smith thinks about them, him and Hoosier. What they are, what they do. And this night just keeps proving to Leckie that he doesn’t really know either. And that he’s articulate about a lot of things but not about affectionate feelings for another person.

“I’m, uh,” he tugs at the folded comforter at the foot end of the mattress, “not actually in the mood for making out so unless you have another video to show me...” There are no other feasible explanations for why Hoosier would want him in his bed, are there?

Hoosier looks at him unimpressed. When Leckie doesn’t move or say anything, he raises his eyebrows. “The fuck’s your point? I don’t recall issuing an invitation for making out. I offered you to sleep in an actual bed that’s way more comfortable than a mattress on the floor. If you don’t want to -”

“No,” Leckie interrupts quickly, “no, I – I accept that offer.” Vowing to not look a gift horse in the mouth, again, he clambers up the bed and picks up his pillow and comforter from there.

Hoosier doesn’t move.

Leckie pokes him in the side with his foot. “Upgrading to a queen size was a good idea, but if you keep lying like that, there’s no way I fit without falling down again.”

Still playing around on his phone, Hoosier says, “You know how to shove me against a wall. Make use of those skills and spare me the effort of having to move myself.”

A huff escapes Leckie, something between amusement and disbelief. He lets the silence linger for a moment, takes in the gentle slope of Hoosier’s nose and lips, the strands of soft hair covering his forehead, the juncture of jaw and neck where milky screen light meets shadow.

It’s dark, it’s past midnight, it’s the time to walk on the edge between reality and dream. Maybe it’s a time to be bold.

“Or,” Leckie says, slowly, testing out the words in his mouth, “stay that way, and I’ll just hold on to you.”

For a split second Hoosier’s aloof façade drops with a twitch of his lips, as if taken aback. If he weren’t watching him so carefully, Leckie would’ve missed it. The more surprising reaction is that Hoosier stretches out his arm, the one on Leckie’s side. Inviting.

“Sure, that can be done,” Hoosier replies, looking at Leckie out of the corner of his eye. “But if you fall, it’s your responsibility.”

Leckie nods, biting down on his lip and the giddy feeling rising in his throat.

Rearranging his body so that he’s lying closer to the boy beside him feels like dipping his toes into the ocean to see how cold it is. With an arm draped around Hoosier’s waist and their legs entangled, his hipbone pressing into Hoosier’s upper thigh, they’re touching shoulder to toe. It’s an enveloping warmth, like being underwater, silent, quiescent, floating weightlessly, so much of him exposed but rewarded by the encompassing embrace of soft water.

Leckie closes his eyes and rests his head on Hoosier’s chest, just below his shoulder. “Worth taking the risk.”

Hoosier bends the arm he had stretched out and runs his fingers through Leckie’s curls, twice, three times.

Definitely worth the risk.

  
  
  



End file.
